


The Pool

by pushingcrazies



Series: In for a Penny...or Five Pounds. [1]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Christmas, Crack, F/M, M/M, Multi, Scotland Yard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-02 14:55:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/370230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pushingcrazies/pseuds/pushingcrazies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every year there’s a betting pool about Lestrade.  This year is a little more interesting than most.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Pool

**Author's Note:**

> This is so cracky, it's not even funny. I really just wanted to write something where the Holmes brothers fight over Lestrade.

“Okay, Sherlock,” John said as they exited the elevator into the familiar hallways of New Scotland Yard.  “What gives?  Why are we really here?  You hate the people at Scotland Yard.  Why do you want to go to their Christmas party?  And don’t give me that bullshite about trying to make friends.”

“Fine, it’s an experiment, then,” Sherlock replied.

“Like hell it is.  Why can’t you just tell me what’s…going…”  His voice trailed away as he took in the sight before him.  The usual desks had been pushed aside to create a large space in the center of the bullpen, and people were crowded into groups, but they all were focused on the far wall of the room, where Lestrade and Dimmock were engaged in a prolonged kiss.

Sherlock made a beeline for Donovan, who was standing discreetly in a corner with a stopwatch and clipboard in her hands.  John followed, smacking into people because he was so focused on watching the two men.  They broke apart and everyone suddenly became very interested in anything but Lestrade, who looked puzzled but happy; Dimmock just looked disappointed.

“Hello, John.  Freak,” Sally said as John and Sherlock drew abreast of her.  She made a note on her clipboard.

“Um, hello.”  John gestured vaguely at Dimmock.  “Should we be congratulating him or…”

“Not with a time like that, you shouldn’t be,” she said.

“Ah, I see.  The goal is to see who can snog him the longest, then.”  Sherlock said it as though it were the most natural thing in the world.  John stared at him.

“I’m sorry, I must have missed something crucial here.”

“Didn’t he tell you?” Sally asked.  John bit back a snappish reply, and she sighed.  “Typical.  Every year there’s a betting pool about Lestrade.  He gets so oblivious when he drinks, so Gregson started it ages ago with seeing how many pieces of tinsel he could hang off the back of Lestrade’s jumper before he noticed.  Then a pool started and it’s gone on every year since, and it’s always something different.”

“Last year it was to see how much alcohol they could get him to unwittingly drink before he either passed out or threw up.  I believe Lee won that one when he gave Lestrade a glass of vodka and told him it was water.  Lestrade chugged half of it before Sally managed to rescue him and get him into the bathroom,” Sherlock interjected.

“That was really dangerous,” Sally said darkly.  “I had to tell them nothing life-threatening this year.  So, mistletoe was the consensus.  Whomever can snog him the longest before he catches on wins the pot.  Only five pounds to enter.”  She offered the envelope to John.

He bristled.  “I keep telling you I’m not-“

“Oh give over, John,” Sherlock said, rolling his eyes.  “It’s not about being gay, it’s about having fun at Lestrade’s expense.  Although I think this year, he’s getting just as much enjoyment out of the bet as the others are.  Look, Gregson’s not gay, and he’s giving it a go,” he added as Gregson approached Lestrade.  The older man reached up and gave a cursory attempt at flirtation before snagging the back of his neck and pulling him in for a kiss.  “In fact, he is married.”

“His wife’s even here tonight,” Sally adjoined.

“I believe that is her over there.  Watching,” Sherlock said.

He was right.  Mrs Gregson was currently giving her husband a heated look.  Not the sort that said “you’re in trouble, mister” either – the sort that said “you, me, ladies room.  Now.”  John swallowed hard.  “I still don’t think so.”

“Who’s in the lead?” Sherlock asked.

Sally consulted her clipboard.  “Well, it was Kelly Fisher, from Domestic, but this guy came in.  No one seems to know who he is, but he knew about the pool and put himself in.  When I asked for his name, he just said that if he wins we’re to give the money to John Watson.”  She gave John an appraising look.  “Friend of yours?”

It could only be one person.  “Tall?  Nice suit?  Receding hairline?  Everything about him screams pompous arse?”

Sally nodded.

“Yeah, I know him.  Wouldn’t call him a friend, though, would we, Sherlock?  Sherlock?”

Sherlock seemed to have gone rigid with fury.  “You said he’s in the lead?” he hissed through clenched teeth.

Sally blinked.  “Yeah.  Why?”

Sherlock didn’t say anything, just yanked John’s wallet out of his back pocket, nearly pulling John off his feet.  Before he could protest, however, Sherlock whipped out a fiver, shoved it in the general direction of Sally’s hand, and stormed across the room, where Lestrade had long since shoved Gregson away; in a completely unrelated train of thought, John noted that Gregson and his wife had both disappeared.  Lestrade’s eyes lit up when he saw Sherlock, John could tell from all the way across the room.  He barely had a moment to greet the Consulting Detective before Sherlock’s lips were on his.

It started out aggressive and demanding, but Lestrade soon gained the upper hand and slowed it into a sweet, lingering sort of kiss.  Both men’s eyes were closed, savouring the taste of each other.  One minute turned into two, turned into four.  John’s eyes bugged nearly out of their sockets and Sally seemed to forget all about the stopwatch.  Every person in the room was rigid with shock.  At last they broke apart, both panting and wild-eyed.  Sherlock grabbed Lestrade’s hand and pulled him across the room to Sally, who wordlessly handed over the envelope stuffed full of the pool money.

“What’s that for?” Lestrade asked.  His voice was slurred with alcohol and confusion.

“Your Christmas bonus,” Sherlock said, tucking it into Lestrade’s back pocket.

“Okay, you’ve proven your point.  You can snog Lestrade longer than your brother,” John said to Sherlock in an undertone.  “Now let him go.”

“I haven’t even _begun_ to make my point,” Sherlock said.  He pulled Lestrade towards the exit.  “Don’t wait up,” he called over his shoulder at John.

Nobody dared move a muscle.  In one corner of the ceiling, a security camera followed the couple’s progress towards the door.  The only sound was the mechanical whir of the camera turning.  The door to the hallway banged shut ominously behind them.

“What. Just. Happned,” was all John could manage to say.


End file.
